


Malta

by renawitch



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Captivity, Escape, Historical References, Human Trafficking, M/M, Male Slash, Not Beta Read, Rescue Missions, Returning to Malta (The Old Guard), Water Sex, What Happened in Malta (The Old Guard)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28808442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renawitch/pseuds/renawitch
Summary: Little things that happen in Malta. Today and then.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I would like to warn you in advance:
> 
> English is not my mother tongue. I learned it at school ages ago and I really hope it is halfway reasonable and readable for native speakers and everyone else.  
> I have done my best with the translation but, as I said, I do not guarantee my knowledge of English.  
> Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the story and I look forward to your feedback.

Malta, in the north of the island, mid-July 2020

The morning of this day had already started fantastically. A beautiful, red sunrise sent a warm brightness through the old, wooden shutters of her bedroom and woke him early. Far too early, actually.  
He lolling pleasurably in the sheets, anxious not to wake Joe, who slumbered undressed, and peacefully on his stomach, beside him.  
Nicky's gaze slid over his partner's tanned skin and defined body, smiling. For a moment he was tempted to run his hand over Joe's bare bottom, but then thought better of it so as not to accidentally wake him.  
It had been a long night with much pleasure but little rest and even less sleep for either of them.  
Should Joe sleep soundly. There had clearly been too little opportunity to do so in the last two weeks. When the nightmares didn't get in the way, they often kept themselves awake with much more enjoyable activities. Since they had returned to Malta, however, things seemed to change a little more for the better every day.  
The stay on the island did more than good and was long overdue. They should have returned years ago.

Nicky quietly slipped out of bed. He cast another fond glance back at Joe and fished in the dim light for his shorts, which he slipped into before leaving the simple bedroom.  
On silent soles, his path led him down the wooden stairs to the kitchen of the house. For a brief moment he considered preparing a leisurely breakfast when his eyes fell on the small, old espresso pot. In the end, for some unspecified reason, he decided not to.  
Instead, he reached for a pen and paper and left Joe a short, concise message so he wouldn't worry if he didn't find Nicky in the house.

Buongiorno, amore.  
Am bathing at the rock pool.  
N.

Seven short words and a hastily drawn, winking smiley. That was all there was room for on the note, which he positioned in plain sight on the dark kitchen table. Joe had to see it immediately when he descended the steps to the kitchen.  
After stepping out of the back door of the small house, he grabbed one of the bath towels hanging to dry over the terrace balustrade and made the few hundred metres to the sea in the first light of day.  
On the rocky slabs at the edge of the tide pool, he spread the cloth and enjoyed the sight of the sun rising over the sea.  
Already now, so early in the morning, he felt the warmth on his skin that this summer day would bring. By noon at the latest, it was likely to be blisteringly hot under the Maltese sun, the heat of which would be intensified by the bright rocks of the surroundings.  
Reason enough to enjoy the clear sea water in the almost circular pool right now.

When the reddish glow was replaced by a warm yellow hue after only a few minutes, he sighed thoughtfully, got rid of his only piece of clothing with his shorts and climbed naked down the low, naturally formed steps to the water.  
The seawater at the shallow edge was of a pleasant temperature in the pool even at this early hour.  
As he climbed into the pool, a satisfied smile slid across Nicky's features. Buying this piece of land half an eternity ago had been the best investment of her life.  
At a time when Malta was far from being densely built-up, even more densely populated and overrun with tourists, Joe and he had acquired the land as soon as they could somehow arrange it.  
They had to tear down the ruins of the small, old farmhouse to the foundations with their own hands and it took them years to reconstruct it in typical Maltese country style and make it habitable again.  
A good seventy or eighty years ago, Joe had the crazy idea of building an outhouse out of the same light-coloured limestone. So they built a smaller duplicate of their accommodation on the other side of the garden, with a kitchen-living room and three bedrooms, each with its own attached bathroom.  
Just in case visitors announced themselves.  
Nicky felt a slight twinge in his chest as he remembered that one of the rooms was meant for Quynh. Built in the hope that they would find her sometime or somewhere after all.  
He shook his head thoughtfully to dispel the dark thoughts of their odyssey.  
Depending on how long they stayed here this time, perhaps he should consider bringing the bathrooms and kitchen in the guest house up to current standards. It would be good to have everything in order, just in case.  
Malta was Joe and Nicky's island. A private affair of sorts.  
Andy and Booker ... no, Booker for the time being probably no more ..., only came here by express invitation and Nile had never seen the island, nor this wonderful place.  
Perhaps there would be an opportunity for a visit one day, when a little time had passed.

Nicky pushed himself off the light limestone of the rocks with a sigh and drifted to the centre of the pool where the water was much deeper. He took a breath and submerged as far as he could.  
Here, in the centre of the tidal basin, the sea had a different temperature, was clearly cooler than at the shallow edge. The cold immediately enveloped him, tingling pleasantly on his skin as he glided through the clear water with powerful strokes.  
As he surfaced, he noticed Joe standing at the edge of the pool, scrutinising him with a quiet regret on his face.  
"Why is it that the best sights always come to me just when I don't have my sketchbook and charcoal pencil with me? That would have made a wonderful picture."  
Nicky laughed mockingly and scooted back to the edge of the pool with powerful tugs, from where he regarded his partner mildly.  
"Oh Joe, how many of these drawings have you sketched? There must be hundreds."  
"That may be true, but this sight is more than worth every single picture of you, although not a single one comes close to the original."  
Nicky didn't reply, just shook his head in amusement and laughed softly before inviting Joe to climb into the rock pool as well with an inviting gesture.  
Joe gladly complied with this invitation, pulling his black shirt over his head and stripping off his shorts before he too negotiated the natural steps and dived into the deeper part of the pool with a headlong dive.  
After a few moments, he abruptly rose in front of Nicky, pulled himself onto the shallow edge and pushed himself onto his thigh, grinning.  
His partner grabbed his dark curls demandingly, leaned forward and playfully forced him into a passionate kiss.  
"We haven't been here in a while."  
Joe frowned mockingly before replying.  
"It hasn't been that long. Six years, if I'm right."  
"Seven. Seven years ago was the last time we were in Malta, but I don't mean the island," Nicky countered, now grasping Joe's pelvis with both hands and pulling him further towards him until the latter ultimately wrapped his legs around Nicky's waist and positioned himself on his hip.  
With a knowing smile, Nicky's right hand slid into Joe's lap. That he gasped in pleasure was predictable and entirely intentional.  
"I mean what we're doing here right now. Here on our own property. In this rock pool. In this very spot."  
He tilted his head as Joe moved even closer to him and covered his neck with demanding kisses, gently grazing the tender skin above his collarbone with his teeth.  
Joe's voice was little more than a hoarse whisper as he mumbled a reply to himself.  
"That was a long time ago, habibi. An eternity. Far too long."  
His right hand slid down Nicky's back, pressing the latter's torso closer to his own, while with his left he reached authoritatively into his partner's dark hair to claim another kiss from him.  
Nicky groaned softly as Joe took such initiative and couldn't suppress a wolfish grin.  
"High time to do it again."  
With a surprisingly imperious gesture, Nicky again put both hands around Joe's hips.  
"I remember it a little differently, though."  
Unexpectedly quickly, he wriggled out from under his partner, continuing to hold him in a firm grip. Joe didn't resist, couldn't stop an amused laugh. Within seconds he found himself pressed backwards against the rock, which was lapped by shallow salt water. Nicky with a triumphant glint in his eyes above him, whose hardness he felt promisingly on his lap.  
For a long moment they stared at each other in mute desire before Nicky took the sceptre again. He kissed Joe passionately and with a soft sigh gave them both what they desired.  
Joe moaned lustfully and reared up, thrusting at him in demand, but with the very next pleasurable thrust Nicky pressed his upper body back onto the ledge again with a superior smile.

They both closed their eyes, surrendering to the moment as much as to the memories that flickered before them.  
As if from afar, Joe thought he heard Nicky's whisper against his ear, felt the warm breeze of his breath with each thrust.  
"This. Is. How. I. Remember. It."


	2. Chapter 2

Malta, Port of Marsamxett, end of April 1565.

With long, springy strides he reached the market of Marsamuscetto in the early dawn.  
Nicolo anxiously checked the seat of his more than full purse. He was not comfortable travelling with such a full purse in these times.  
He carried concealed weapons, but alone and without the support of Andromache, Quynh and Yusuf, he was not particularly enchanted by the idea of facing an armed group of thieves. Even if they could not do much harm to him or his life.  
Keeping this risk to a minimum was one of the reasons why he was hurried and alert on this early April morning. The other, far more important, was the smooth release of Yusuf.  
With a bit of luck and some skill, that would be possible entirely without bloodshed.  
Well, once he had paid for the passage to Genoa, they would probably be as poor as church mice, but Yusuf's freedom was well worth it.

His steps led him purposefully past merchants who were setting up their market stalls and eyeing him questioningly. Customers this early in the morning were rare here, and if someone came to the market at this primeval hour without being a trader himself, it could only mean that they were after a very special commodity.  
Nicolo reached the wooden platform while the Maltese and his three helpers were preparing the goods.  
"Il-ghodwa, Dejan."  
"Buongiorno, Signore di Genova," the merchant replied amiably, examining him with an appraising glance. "I see you are significantly better than you were a few days ago."  
Nicolo wrestled a meagre smile from himself and nodded in agreement as he took a deep breath to maintain his friendly façade. In fact, he struggled painstakingly not to lose his temper and immediately punch the merchant in the face.  
"Thank you, Dejan, I am indeed quite well again. Better, though, would be me and especially my mind, if you are willing to sell me a piece of your wares."  
The man raised his eyebrows questioningly and laughed in amazement.  
"You harbour interest in acquiring a slave? That is not something I would have suspected about you. May I ask what use you have for him or her?"  
Noticing the tense look on his counterpart's face, the merchant added placatingly, "Only to show you the best possible pieces. I don't want to waste your valuable time."  
Nicolo clenched his teeth to stifle the biting reply that was on the tip of his tongue before he forced himself to retort.  
"It is for... private reasons. It will not be necessary to search your... stock. I want a certain Saracen who was aboard the ship from which you freed me."  
"Signore, there were some, I fear. And these Moors, after all, they all look alike. I have already sold most of them to Forti Sant Lernu for good money."

Nicolo froze. Was it too late? Had the Knights of the Order of the damned Knights of St John already chained Yusuf as a slave to the helm of one of their galleys?  
Hot anger flared up inside him. An uneasy feeling assailed him without warning and literally tightened his throat. He clenched his teeth doggedly.  
It took him a moment to take a deep breath and collect himself before he was able to keep the conversation civil.  
"That would really be a shame for you, Dejan. I am prepared to pay more than he is worth. Let me see if the one I want is still for sale."  
The merchant nodded eagerly as Nicolo patted his full purse meaningfully and hurried with his helpers to drag the prisoners of the recently hijacked "merchant ship" out of the darkened grated wagon.

After a few moments, the four men were lined up side by side on the wooden platform. With each of their movements, the chains that bound their hands and feet clinked softly but unmistakably.  
Nicolo hardly dared to look at them, yet forced himself to look each one in the face. He recognised all four.  
The last one had hit him so hard in the face with his fist only a few days ago that Nicolo's lip had split open and his blood was dripping from his chin onto the planks of the ship. Yusuf, meanwhile, stood beside Nicolo, seemingly motionless and unimpressed, and eyed him casually.  
Only when the pirate lunged to abuse his bound prisoner again did Yusuf intervene and intercept the blow just before Nicolo's cheek.  
Only a few weeks ago, he had signed on aboard the supposed merchant ship. Knowing full well that the goods the "traders" were counting on consisted of prisoners whose lucrative ransoms ensured the crew's livelihood.  
Nicolo, a native of wealthy Genoa, provided a perfect target for the pirates with his background, obvious accent and a little applied acting.  
The hoped-for ransom for a wealthy Italian nobleman from Genoa was likely to be significantly higher if he was returned unharmed to his family than if he was tortured senselessly and without reason during his captivity.  
This explanation finally made sense to the thug and he abandoned his plan without suspecting that the two unequal men shared an alliance to finally put a stop to the piracy of this crew.  
Neither Yusuf nor Nicolo had calculated that the pirates' ship would ultimately fall victim to an attack by Dejan's men.  
Now the pirate stared silently and with a murderous gaze into the eyes of his former hostage.

Nicolo didn't care at all. Completely calm on the outside, a terrible storm was raging inside him, in which dismay and terror were mixed with naked panic and abysmal fear. The realisation that Yusuf was not among the prisoners almost choked his throat.  
"This is all of them?" he asked the slaver in as uninvolved a voice as possible. "You sold all the others to Sant Lernu?"  
The merchant shrugged apologetically and raised his hands placatingly.  
"The Knights of St John pay well and Jean Parisot de la Valette needs men for his galleys."  
Nicolo groaned in resignation and shook his head reprovingly.  
"I pay well too, Dejan. This man I must find at any cost. When did you bring the others to the fort?"  
"Signore di Genova, I handed over the men two days ago. I have one more Saracen in the wagon, but I fear this one is utterly useless and therefore unsaleable."  
Nicolo listened up and gave the slaver a questioning look.  
"May I?"  
Dejan weighed his head disapprovingly, but then nodded to one of his helpers. After a few moments, he dragged out of the wagon a man with chains on his wrists and ankles, his head covered by a dark sack made of jute cloth.  
Dejan's helper roughly pushed the prisoner to the ground. He groaned in pain and doubled over as his shoulder hit the wooden platform.  
Dejan himself now stepped closer and tore the cloth from the man's head.

With extreme effort, Nicolo managed not to rush towards Yusuf with relief and take him in his arms. The man, blinded by the brightness of the morning, averted his eyes and closed them.  
He seemed to have been treated badly in the last few days. Nicolo suspected that he had received neither water nor food, for despite his immortality he looked weak and haggard. Under the metal rings around his wrists and ankles, old as well as fresh blood shimmered. Both soaked the fabric of his soiled clothes, but what shook Nicolo most deeply was the iron ring that lay around Yusuf's neck.  
Nicolo's next intention would have been to reach for the dagger he carried concealed in the sleeve of his linen shirt. He would like nothing better now than to plunge the blade of the weapon deep into the slave trader's flesh.  
A heavy breath brought him back to his senses and he dismissed the thought instantly. If he were to do here and now what he craved most, it would undo everything he had been working towards since his own liberation and Yusuf's capture. Instead, he wrestled another answer out of himself in as controlled a manner as possible.  
"This is the man I am looking for."  
Dejan shook his head in disbelief.  
"Him? You really want to buy him of all people? Sir, let me tell you that you will not be doing yourself any favours. He is defiant, rebellious and dangerous. The Knights of St John at Fort Sant Lernu didn't even want him for the galley oars."  
Silently, the Italian dropped into a crouch beside Yusuf, extended his right hand and, with a feigned imperious gesture, bent the latter's head back in such a way that the Maghrebi was forced to look at him.

Boundless astonishment was in his gaze when he blinked and finally recognised Nicolo. Yusuf opened his mouth in bewilderment, as if to say something, but Nicolo shook his head almost imperceptibly in warning and rose again to face the merchant firmly.  
"I don't want him for the rowing bench and whether he is insubordinate or not is all the same to me. I have certain personal differences with this man that I am willing to eradicate. He owes me his blood and for that I am quite willing to pay a reasonable price."  
The merchant's gaze wandered between the two men until finally he nodded with a shrug.  
"Nine thousand pounds."  
Nicolo spun around in a fraction of a moment and stared at Dejan in disbelief.  
"Nine thousand!" he cried angrily. "A fortune for a recalcitrant slave who can be put to no use. Who is nothing more to you than a burden and with whom you can do nothing but kill him, since no one will buy him from you! Dejan, this is usury!"  
"Well, Signore di Genova, you want to buy him, it seems to me, and I have a monopoly, so to speak, on the Saracen."  
"I will give you six thousand, and that is already entirely overpriced."  
"Eight."  
"Seven and I don't report to the Order that you have kept much of the treasure that was aboard the Saracen ship for yourself."  
Nicolo could see the merchant grinding his jaw in annoyance, but ultimately he struck into business.


	3. Chapter 3

Malta, Port of Marsamxett, late April 1565.

What bothered him most was his guilty conscience toward Yusuf as they crossed the harbor and the city.  
Dejected, he left the old nag, which he had still leased from Dejahn's ribs as an addition, trotting through the streets. Nicolo sat on horseback, Yusuf, weakened, battered and still in iron shackles, walked.  
The Maghrebi did not complain. Played the role of humble prisoner almost perfectly for those around them, while he stumbled along the paved paths behind the nag with his head down, falling several times on the pavement.  
Nicolo didn't turn, didn't look at him as his partner hit the ground. He did not slow down, did not speak to him, and did not slow the pace of his horse, at the saddle of which ended the rope that mercilessly continued to pull Yusuf forward.  
It was precisely this humiliation, publicly visible to everyone, that drove agonizing waves of immense guilt through Nicolo's limbs. With extreme effort, he kept control, pushing back the welling tears of shame. Keeping up this gruesome charade demanded considerably more of him than the haughty sight he presented would suggest.  
If he had his way, he would have instantly taken off Yusuf's damned chains, helped him onto the horse, and left the place by the shortest route. But this would only draw the undivided attention of the Maltese and especially the St. John's guards to them, and get them both into tremendous trouble. 

They had done much worse to each other, especially in the early years, than this spectacle. A murderous seriousness, furious rage and cruel doggedness had led both of them to acts that completely excluded a togetherness, a friendship, even a neutral conversation.  
It had taken Nicolo a good one hundred and fifty years to put aside his raging religious fanaticism.  
That they had become not only allies but, against all odds, ultimately even lovers, bordered on a miracle.  
As soon as it was somehow possible, he would put an end to this terribly undignified spectacle, but to do so they first had to cross Floriana and leave it far behind them. The path through the town stretched seemingly endlessly. Yusuf crashed several more times, and with each fall Nicolo felt a painful stab in his chest, yet he didn't budge a bit in the saddle. It took what felt like an eternity before they left the city gates behind them.

After the town had been out of sight for some time, Nicolo finally brought the horse to a halt and hastily slid out of the saddle. The wooden water bottle was already in his hand when he rushed to Yusuf, who was slumped exhausted by the side of the road.  
"Oh Yusuf, I ... I'm so sorry," carefully he held the bottle to the lips of the exhausted Maghrebi, who hastily drank the clear water until he choked and was shaken by a coughing fit. Nicolo handed him a piece of bread and some hard cheese from his pocket, which Yusuf gratefully accepted. The time they had here was very limited so close to the city, but his partner now needed all the things he had been denied for days. Food, water and the opportunity to rest. Then he would soon feel much better.  
Nicolo made a beeline for the irons.  
"We're too close to the city," his counterpart reminded him wearily, but his partner paid no attention to the objection as he untied the shackles.  
"Nicolo, It's still too early. It's dangerous ..."  
"I don't care, Yusuf," Nicolo burst out. "Every moment in these chains is a moment too many, and we've been heading north for more than a good hour."  
After untying the shackles from his hands and feet, he tried the neck iron fahr fahrig and pointed to the nearby sea with his right hand.  
"They have no reason to look for us, and they won't find us here anytime soon." Continuing, he fiddled with the neck shackle, striving for calm and composure.  
"Accidenti!" ultimately escaped him, upset. Frustrated, he took his hands off the iron.  
"This damn ring won't open!"  
Yusuf took Nicolo's hands in his and squeezed them gently to reassure him.  
"Leave the ring where it is. Maybe it's better that way. If anyone comes across us, it will surely spare us unpleasant questions so close to the city."  
His partner shook his head indignantly. There had to be some way to remove this humiliating thing!  
Yusuf smiled sadly and gently framed Nicolo's face with his hands.  
"Hayati. It's just a piece of iron." He rested his forehead against his beloved's and breathed a loving kiss on his lips.  
He returned the comforting gesture almost desperately and then helped Yusuf to his feet. The Maghrebi shook his head reprovingly when Nicolo made an effort to convince him to sit up.  
"No, Nicolo. Putting me on this horse is not a good idea while we are on the road. Let's rest for a minute and then try to get to the north of the island."

Nicolo froze and clenched his jaws doggedly before closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath to collect himself.  
"Yusuf," the laboriously controlled began. "Yes, we will go north. I have booked passage to Genoa for us. The ship leaves the port of il-Mellieħa in four days.  
But you are barely able to stand, let alone walk beside the horse. The sun rises higher and higher and the heat of the day soon sets in. We have little water, no shelter, and more than six hours of trail ahead of us before we reach the far north. Consequently, you will now instantly mount this horse."  
With emphasis, he pushed him toward the animal and brooked no resistance. Only when he had maneuvered Yusuf into the saddle did his heated temper cool and he paced silently beside the horse.

The hours dragged on seemingly forever, and the sweltering heat, unusual for this time of year, demanded everything of them. The water supply went precariously to the dwindling, but nevertheless they had met for nearly two hours no more human being soul.  
The fact that the north of the island was only sparsely populated proved to be both a curse and a blessing. For on the one hand, the absence of people offered them a certain security from discovery, and on the other hand, without surface water on the island, there was no way to replenish their water supplies.  
Nicolo eyed Yusuf skeptically and shook his head in resignation. With the sight they offered, no one would help them anyway. Neither with water nor with shelter.  
Yusuf's clothes presented a picture of horror. They, like the Maghrebi himself, were completely tattered and dirty, stained with blood, and on top of that there was the damned slave ring around his neck that could not be easily opened.  
Dressed in the out-of-place clothes of an Italian nobleman, he himself, here in the almost deserted regions of the north, was also a strange curiosity that would probably be eyed rather suspiciously.  
His gaze slid thoughtfully toward the east, where the sea shimmered deep blue in the not-too-distant distance.

He sighed sorrowfully, silently grasped the horse's reins, and with his other hand steered it demandingly toward the water. Yusuf looked up in amazement.  
"It doesn't make sense like this in this heat. We are far enough from the larger towns now and should rest. You must take off those rags and all the blood ..., " he faltered for a brief moment, eyeing his beloved desperately and closing his eyes for a moment before regaining his speech.  
"And wash all the dirt off you. I've still got some simple, clean traveling clothes for both of us in my pockets."

After half a mile off the trail, they passed an older, vacant farmhouse. The heavy wooden door hung loosely on its hinges, most of the shutters were broken out, but the dry-stone masonry towered solidly before them. Even though the roof had a few holes in it, the cottage did not appear to be completely dilapidated.  
Yusuf's mine brightened significantly when he found a small cistern next to the building that actually contained water.  
They settled in here as best they could, took off the horse's saddle and its meagerly filled panniers, and tied it near the entrance to the house in the shade of the building.  
"Let's see if we can't wait out the midday heat here," Yusuf suggested. "How far is it to il-Mellieħa?"  
Nicolo shook his head in perplexity.  
"I think about four more hours of walking but a break would do us good and hardly anyone will find us here. We don't have a place to stay in il-Mellieħa. Maybe we should stay here tonight. That way we would at least have a roof over our heads and be safe from prying eyes."  
Yusuf nodded in agreement and took the traveling clothes out of the bags his beloved had told him about.  
"I'm not averse to it, but first I want to see if I can't find direct access to the sea. We shouldn't waste the rainwater from the cistern to wash the dirt off us," he eyed Nicolo scrutinizingly from crown to sole and frowned doubtfully. "Are you going to accompany me? Even though you're wearing really fine clothes, a bath wouldn't suit you any less than it would me, seeing all that dust, sand and sweat on you."  
Nicolo could not suppress a mischievous grin, but still joined his beloved on the way to the sea.  
"Dust and sweat on my skin haven't bothered you much so far either, when the occasion was right."  
Yusuf laughed in amusement and grabbed Nicolo's hand to pull him down to the water with him.  
"That may be, but I like you clean even better than I already do."  
"Careful, slave!" retorted his partner, but also laughing in a detached way and giving him a tender kiss. "That's no way to talk to your master."

The water was glorious.  
Nicolo had spotted the marvelous, large, almost circular tide pool after only a short time and smilingly pointed it out to Yusuf.  
Their clothes were already falling to the ground even before they found a truly walkable entrance to the sea.  
Yusuf could only with difficulty control himself from diving into the pool with a hayed headlong dive, while Nicolo carefully and attentively descended the naturally created steps to the basin. When they finally dove into the warm water, much of the pent-up tension fell away from them. They simply drifted for a while before Nicolo spotted a rocky ledge at the edge of the pool, just lapped by the sea, that was perfect for dozing a bit in the sun.  
It wasn't long before Yusuf took a seat next to him and exuberantly coerced him into a kiss.  
"It's beautiful here. It's a shame we can't stay."  
"Hmm," Nicolo murmured with a pensive smile. "We should catch up with Andromache and Quynh. They've been traveling alone in the north for far too long, and we can't stop the slave trade. Even if we were in the company of Andromache and Quynh, we're not doing anything about it here. But we could go back. You and I. In seventy or eighty years, perhaps, provided the advancing Ottomans don't reduce the island to rubble and the Knights of St. John don't support the slave trade then."  
His gaze darkened and fell on the iron ring around Yusuf's neck. He gently placed his hand on it and closed his eyes in concern.  
"We must remove this thing before we board the ship. The passage brings enough problems as it is. If the ship's crew thinks you are a freeman, they may refuse us passage."  
Yusuf frowned questioningly and shook his head.  
"You booked the passage and paid for it. They can't turn us away, and if we really can't get rid of the ring without a blacksmith," he pulled himself up onto Nicolo's thigh in one smooth motion, blew a kiss on his lips, and grinned broadly, "then we'll just pretend I'm your property. After all, that's not so completely wrong."  
Nicolo returned the kiss emotionally and laughed humorlessly in response.  
"I guess that's true. I paid for the trip with half the amount. But to pay off the captain in full, our money won't be enough. We will have to work it off on board or walk the plank halfway."  
Yusuf replied nothing. He worried far less about such things than his beloved. Somehow, things would work out. It had always been that way, why should this time be any different?

When Nicolo suddenly grabbed the iron around his neck with both hands and pulled him closer, he gasped in shock. It was not often that his lover took the initiative so emphatically. Yusuf enjoyed it every time Nicolo put aside his controlled facade and took what he asked for with determination.  
"You really were one hell of an expensive purchase for a defiantly," he kissed Yusuf's soft lips affectionately.  
"Rebellious," his hand ran tenderly over his lover's flat stomach.  
"Dangerous," he pulled him even closer by the neck ring until Yusuf was sitting on his hip, grinning as he wrapped his legs around Nicolo's waist.  
"Slave."  
Yusuf smiled wolfishly, feeling Nicolo's hardness clearly beneath him. He matched the rolling waves of the sea with lascivious, sinuous movements, stirring teasingly on Nicolo's hips, noting how his own body also responded immediately to the ignited passion of the moment.  
The Maghrebi laughed in amusement as his lover suddenly wriggled out from under him and pressed him backwards onto the rock with a firm grip.  
Nicolo loomed triumphantly over him, leaning forward and coercing him into a passionate kiss. His phallus thrust demandingly towards Yusuf and he forcefully demanded entry.  
Both gasped at their union and surrendered into demanding kisses.  
Yusuf closed his eyes with pleasure, reared up under his lover and was pressed back onto the rock by him with the next spirited thrust.  
Nicolo again grabbed the heavy ring around Yusuf's neck with his right hand. While he fixed the latter's left wrist on the washed around rock and, after a brief moment of absolute motionlessness, whispered soft words in his ear with each thrust.  
"You. Are. In. Fact. My. Property."


	4. Chapter 4

Malta, in the north of the island, mid-July 2020.

It ended in the shallow waters of the rocky plateau lapped by the sea.  
They found fulfilment with a lusty surge. A final thrust. A hoarse gasp that testified to deep satisfaction.  
Joe reached into Nicky's hair with both hands, forcing his face closer to his own, and he surrendered into a passionate kiss with his partner. The heat of the act slowly cooled, restoring them to lost breath and a functioning mind, drawing them into the reality of the present as they finally broke away from each other with a low moan.  
Nicky snuggled into Joe's arms, smiling, and they both rolled onto their sides where they lay gazing into each other's eyes.

For a long moment neither said a word, then Joe's satisfied smile turned into a broad grin.  
"I like it when you take the initiative."  
Nicky smirked in amusement and gave his lover another small kiss before replying, "I know you do and I thought it was very appropriate right now and here. It just came over me."  
His partner nodded mildly and playfully intertwined his fingers with Nicky's.  
"There was one little detail missing, of course."  
Nicky shook his head defensively and straightened up a little.  
"No, Joe, please don't start with that awful iron ring now. I never want to see one of those things again. Not on you, or anywhere else."  
His partner smiled wolfishly.  
"Oh, it did have its advantages. At least that one time it served you well, and in fact I wouldn't have minded having used it that way a few more times."  
Nicky raised an eyebrow reprovingly and shook his head emphatically.  
"As you've just seen, even without that thing, I get exactly what I want when I want it."  
Joe sat up and couldn't avoid a loud laugh.  
"No, no, you're right. It's a good thing we found that old blacksmith who helped us get rid of the thing. Who knows if we'd have had the dubious pleasure of slaving away for three weeks on that rotten barge for the crossing otherwise."  
Nicky shrugged apologetically, tilting his head.  
"Hey, I spent all that money on you. Who knew you'd be so expensive?"  
Shaking their heads together, they fell into mirthful laughter and then rose to step out of the tide pool.  
Holding hands, they climbed the shallow natural steps, grabbed their clothes and made their way naked towards the small, old farmhouse a few hundred metres away.  
Inside the cottage, breakfast was waiting for them, followed by other pleasurable things.  
They were in Malta.  
They had all the time in the world.


End file.
